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Vajpayee Dairy Berry Farm

It began with Clair. Clair had been one of my brightest students. She reminded me a bit of myself, only where I had adopted the resting bitch face and ice queen personna to keep the boys and faculty from harassing me, Clair managed to deflect them with humour. I admit doing my stint in the army probably didn’t help my resting bitch face and automatic defenses any, so I was jealous in a way about her free and easy way of avoiding the attention girls with busts like ours attracted. That is why I was surprised to discover her stopping me in the grocery store before buying produce.

“Oh Mrs Thomas, don’t waste your money buying this. You know Vajpayee gives only their lowest grade to the stores, and with the food shortage being what it is, you are paying gold for trash.”

I turned to see Clair. She had changed. She wasn’t gothed out, or punked out, or one of the other defensive masks she wore. She was in a simple white sundress that showed a lot of skin, and argued she wasn’t wearing a bra. There was a necklace around her neck. A golden stylized trident with a golden bell beneath it. It looked exotic and somehow, compelling. More than the change in clothes was the change in her posture. She was, open. Relaxed, confident and yet somehow peaceful. Like she had figured everything out and nothing bothered her anymore. Her blue eyes were so joyful, that I worried she had joined some cult or the damned Evangelicals had “saved” her. The bright intelligence in her eyes and clear focus told me this wasn’t true. Whatever happened, the bright intelligence I knew in my former student was not just still alive, but more focused than ever.

“Wow Clair, you look, good.” I admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

Clair gave me a big hug and told me softly.

“You look stressed Mrs T ( a nickname some of my students used. I tried to forget it was short for Mrs Tits when the boys used it), but I go by Raand now. It is a name I earned, and is more mine because of it. If you want to get your family some decent fresh berries or even greenhouse vegetables, I know a farm that allows select women to U-pick for free on certain days. They support motherhood and inter-cultural exchange, so a mother, teacher, and even a youth group leader like yourself is exactly the sort of person Vajpayee Dairy Berry Farm would love to cultivate. ”

I had to admit, the produce available was ridiculously overpriced, and not very good. I felt the need to get outside and do something more to connect to nature. I hadn’t been out hunting in ages, and my own gardening was limited due to space. The idea of picking my own was tempting.

Seeing my temptation, Clair, or Raand I should call her (because dead naming is a sign of disrespect), ran a hand down her self, from cheek to neck, to chest and hip. Her nipples hardened as she did, and I bit back a gasp. I had all the time been bisexual but never really had a chance to act on it after school experimentation. Raand was talking as she caressed herself.

“Look at me Mrs T, look what coming to the farm once a week has done for me. I have toned up, I am not worried about my weight anymore, no fad diets, my skin is perfect, even my hair is thicker since I started coming to the farm and really building my connection. They don’t just let you pick the produce, they will eventually let you into the farm to spend some time with the animals. I mean, don’t you feel that wrapped up in the tech and the social rules you feel all cut off from who you really are? I usually come to the farm on Fridays, but for you I will come to newbie Mondays just to show you off.”

I didn’t find out what she meant by the last bit, but she was right. I felt, unconnected. Unbalanced. Incomplete. Add the sexual frustration, the work tension, the covid related issues (extra cleaning duties and no extra hours, the anti-vax idiots making everything harder, and constant extra meetings about plans that changed every five minutes and never got actually implemented), I had to admit, the idea of getting on my knees and fingers in the actual soil again had me pretty willing. Looking at Raand, she was so much, more, than she had been. I felt a little jealous. That was the tipping point. Being jealous is weak, I was being offered freely what I was trying to be jealous of. That was some kind of full on Karen culture bullshit.

“Alright Raand, I will come with you on Monday.” I agreed. Raand hugged me, and I felt her hands stroke up and down my back, cupping my ass cheekily with a pinch.

“Awesome Mrs T. I will pick you up at 4. I still remember your place from all the Girl Guide camps.” My house had a enormous garage, and the unit camping supplies tended to live there, so every camp the volunteer girls would come and load up all the cars with gear. Raand (or Clair as she was then) was all the time an willing volunteer.

When we arrived, I was already relaxed. Raand bubbled on happily about everything in her life. She worked as a travel agent, which had to be stressful now, but she brushed it off with a giggle. “When I get stressed, I just ask Sahib to spank it out of me, then by the time I am done thanking them I am so relaxed you could pour me into a glass.”

I was shocked, but she was smiling so happily I just chuckled at how my sterotypical conservative teacher mask tried to pretend I didn’t spend every night fantasizing about things far worse, and using a toy collection that argued I had too much time on my hands and not enough husbandly interest for my own good. I decided I wasn’t in any position to lecture someone who was getting her needs met in a way that left her relaxed and charged up to face the day, not guilty and conflicted as I did.

“I am glad you are seeing someone special.” I said.

Raand stopped, suddenly serious. “So special. So very special. But not someone. I was lucky enough to be chosen. Maybe you can too.”

We pulled in and two little old Hindu ladies were chatting on the porch of the main house where we parked. One called out to Raand in Hindi, then again in English.

“Raand, you pretty little chut. You couldn’t get enough on Friday? You know you don’t have to be here Monday too child. You have earned your place already,”

The old women looked at her so indulgently, like you would a precocious child. She ran to them in methods that reminded me that she was not wearing a bra and curtsied before them like she was back in ballet class, then shockingly reached down and kissed each of the old women soundly on the lips.

Each woman reached back to knit their fingers in Raand’s hair and hold her in place for the kiss before releasing her.

The two women laughed happily, and Raand stood there glowing, half twirling side to side like a proud five year old who had just been praised.

Those women had to be closer to seventy than sixty. I was unfamilar with Hindu customs, so maybe kissing on the mouth was a common greeting among Indians of that generation. I hadn’t heard anything about that, but it’s not like we treated Indian culture as anything but a source of jokes and good take out food.

I was shocked into silence by the deep shock of arousal I felt almost double me over like I had been tased. They were grandmother aged women, the kiss was innocent. God I really needed to get laid if I was reading this much into such an innocent greeting. My husband……well that is what I bought the toys for I guess.

“Who is your friend Raand. She has such pretty red hair, and a decent womany figure. You are thinking of bringing her into the Dairy Berry program?”

Raand gestured me forward. Not knowing why exactly, I curtsied like Raand had, and blushed when I saw the measured approval in the old Aunties eyes.

“What is your name, child?” The old woman on the left, the heavier set one in the dark green saree asked.

“I am Jan, ma’am.” I answered.

She caught my left hand and looked at the ring and tsked. “Married already, have you any children of your own child?” She asked.

“Three beautiful daughters.” I answered with the accustomed pride of any mother.

“The old woman reached out and cupped my chin, stroking it, turning my head to admire my user account. I felt a rush of lust go through me at the inappropriate touch. I was aware of my hardening nipples and rising blush. The curse of the redhead, we can not hide our arousal from anyone. Our skin flashes the surrender sign, and in my case my nipples charged forth like almost inch long flagpoles to wave surrender from. I was being looked at by a grandmother for Christ’s sake, not a porn producer, there was no reason for this damned arousal. I really, really needed to take some time with my toys tonight.

“A good breeder then. I think you are lovely child. Be welcome at our farm. I hope you will join the Dairy Berry program. It will help a lot of the needy in the community and it will see that your family eats better as well. Giving back is important, don’t you think.”

I was looking confused when the old woman turned to Raand and said to her.

“Get her out of those rags. She won’t be in the public fields. Put her in white, and let her pick from the reserve fields.” The old woman allowed, clearly making a ruling that Raand had hoped for, but dared not ask.

I had no clue what just happened, only that it was essential, and I had secured some form of acceptance.

Before I could do more than curtsie my thanks, and echo Raand who burbled a happy “Thank you Aunties!”, Raand dragged me off to changing rooms.

She explained that this was a very traditional farm. The women wore white dresses, with a head covering scarf, when they worked the fields. The dresses breathed beautifully so you didn’t overheat, and the scarf protected your head and skin from the sun’s burn. Super essential for a redhead like myself I had to admit. She explained that while outsiders could use the public field (the lowest grade), only those permitted into the Dairy Berry program were allowed to pick the family fields, and they did so in traditional attire.

As we changed, Raand laughed when she saw me with my bra and panties on under the light dress. She marched me back to take them off.

“You will be a sweat soaked mess. Besides, it is only us girls here. What are you afraid of?”

Raand stripped me, I went to object, but she pinched my nipple hard, and I just about wet myself.

“Be a good girl Mrs T. You aren’t teacher or leader here. Time to let someone else take charge.”

Before I could get my mind back together, she had my panties off and I numbly dressed myself and went to pick berries.

There were a dozen women out there. All dressed in white, none with underwear on I could tell through the dresses. They were all happy and relaxed, so I felt twice the fool being nervous. One was Japanese, the rest were white. Over half were also married.

We were lead by one of the younger “Aunties” as the Hindu women were all called, to one of the fields and given baskets while the Aunty briefed me on the program.

Aunty Sitta was in her thirties, and swayed confidently when she walked, flicking her raven black hair like a horses tail in a way that caught my eye more than it should have. She was unapolegetically gorgeous in an exotic way, right down to the gold nose ring and red marriage dot.

“The Dairy Berry program is a way for us to give back. Part of the program is providing food for the homeless. Part of what you pick will go home with you for free as your reward for helping. Part will go to the food bank so the poor in the community can have some fresh nourishing food. Usually they get only cast off canned goods people find on their shelves and would rather starve than eat. To give that to the poor is shameful. We give our best, and you will be a part of that. Be proud. You are giving back. Most of the women in your tax bracket would rather die than see the poor eat the same food they do.”

I flushed in shame, because I had done exactly that every time a food drive was on. I saw other women in the crowd blushing as well. We were all guilty of it.

It did raise a question though. “What is the Dairy part, I see the berries?” I asked as I had been picking a while.

Sitta’s sing song voice seemed so natural as it blended with the rtymn of picking.

“There are many women in the community who are not as blessed as you. There are many who struggle to feed their children, and formula is not just expensive right now, but hard to come by. We here at the Dairy Berry farm understand how sacred the cow is, because it gives unselfishly. We have our cows address this lack.”

Now I was really confused. Before I could ask, Sitta was done her basket and walked to the collection point. I raised three daughters. You don’t introduce cow’s milk until very late in development. I mean cow milk isn’t good for babies. Formula is, well better than cows milk but not good. Goat’s milk is better, if you can get it. The best of course was breast milk, but not everyone was capable.

I carried my third basket back to the collection point lost in wondered. I saw Raand having had her basket inspected and weighed by the old uncle who was in the farm outbuilding. He greeted her by name and they were laughing. Odd across such an age gap. She caught and kissed his hand, which I wondered was strange. He tried to pull his hand back, but she held it tight, and took a finger into her mouth.

“It is not Friday Raand. You know the Monday group isn’t select. You can come back on Friday little Raand.”

She sucked his finger into her mouth and used her elbows to squeeze her breasts together to make them bigger. I swear we all learn that trick by fifteen. It breaks the minds of most teenage boys, and it seemed to work on the grey haired old Hindu.

“Come around, but down behind the counter where no one can see you.” He commanded, and I heard Raand giggling as she ran around to the side door, she dropped her dress outside the door. She entered naked.

I approached the counter, where the old man sat behind it. He had the scales in front of him, and he sat so still, his deep brown eyes calm, as if a white girl crouched under the table sucking his cock, while another white woman approached to get her berries weighed was a common occurence. I was a little stunned, not knowing socially how to deal with this, I fell back on pure denial as my only option.

“I, um, have berries?” I finally stammered out.

The uncle asked me to place them on the scale. I did so. I could hear the “gluck gluck gluck” sounds of my former student Raand sucking his cock, just through the half wall between us, but the old man gave no sign beyond grunting. He accepted it as no less than his due, and so did Raand. I was so horny, I had to get someplace private to deal with it. I should be shocked and offended, but simply didn’t know why my indignation was failing to report for duty. I just stood there while the old man complimented me on my berry picking.

“Very good. Only the full ripe ones. None that were not mature enough to be rich and sweet. You pick them gently, not to bruise them. You pick the ripe fruit gently, you do not need to force it. It yields to the strong hand by right.”

The old man was staring into my soul, his words going hard as stone, hard as steel, hard as the cock he was driving into my former student’s throat.

He dropped a hand beneath the table, probably to grab Raand’s head as he began to sweat, to breathe heavy and hard, staring into my eyes, both of us aware of what was happening but trapping me into the game of pretending we didn’t.

“Your skin is so pale, even where it shows. I don’t believe you tan at all, little Mleccha.” He said.

“I tan, a bit.” I protested lamely, as if the fact that as a redhead who didn’t have one ancestor who came from anywhere south of oh my fucking god its cold and foggy here was something I should be ashamed of.

“Show me!” He said, pointing at my chest.”

“What?” I demanded shocked, no longer able to pretend.

“Show me, Mleccha. Now.” It was an order, and we both knew what for.

I pulled open the dress, showing my pale married white breasts for him to oggle as he face fucked my former student. He put both hands down to grip her head and from the sounds, was choking her with his cock.

“Play with them, slut.” He hissed.

I did. This is what happens when you pretend you are satisfied with no sex and you are not. Your cunt short circuits your mind and you do stupid things. Things that can destroy carreers, destroy marriages, destroy families.

I caressed and pinched my nipples. That is when he started talking dirty to me. I should have been revolted, but I was as shameful as he said, and felt each word only turned me on further.

“Suck those cow udders you Mleccha slut.” He hissed, and God forgive me, I took my right nipple in my mouth and sucked it.

With a roar, he shuddered and shook, clearly emptying his balls into my poor student Raand.

I came so hard, I collapsed to my knees, weeping.

Raand came out, still putting on her dress, smiling happily.

She picked me up, wordlessly from where I knelt. She pulled my head down to her, as I towered over her by about four inches, and kissed me hard.

Her mouth was full of that old man’s cum.

I found myself grabbing her to me and thrusting my tongue into her fiercely. We kissed until I felt a hard old hand slap my ass hard, and I remembered the old Hindu man whose sperm I was now dueling with Raand for with our mingled tongues.

“She might be acceptable. Bring her to the farm Friday. We will give her a chance.”

I was numb until we changed. As we went back to her car, my real clothes and the real world settled in. This had been a terrible mistake. This had been insane. This was a good way to lose everything I had built in my career, my marriage, my family. All because I could not withstand one old man’s eyes, his words, his………right to take everything that made me, and use it as he pleased.

“This was a mistake. This can’t ever happen again, Clair!” I said, stressing her dead white name to show I was rejecting everything she had dragged me into.

A little old woman heard us arguing as we approached the car. She stopped me with a slap across the face.

“You will treat Raand with respect. She has earned her place. She is a Good Girl, and I will not see her disrespected. If you are very lucky, you might become half as good. You are not without potential, but you are not Raand. Appoligize now, or I will fetch the cane.”

I felt Raand, because dead naming her as Clair was as shittty a thing as it seemed, grip my hand hard, as if the cane was not something that was a metaphor or idle threat.

“I am sorry Raand. You didn’t deserve that.” I said, and Raand hugged me.

As one we turned and curtsied to the old Hindu woman, saying together as we did “Thank you Auntie.”

In the long silent ride back to my house, I went over all the reasons this was a mistake. They were all just, right, and holy. I was sure by every single reason in my carefully structured world view that I was right, and what I had just done was the biggest mistake of my life.

“This was a mistake. I won’t go back ever.” I said, as I got out and went around to her trunk to get my berries.

“Uh huh.” Raand acknowledged happily.

“You are gonna avoid masturbating about this tonight out of guilt. You are gonna masturbate about it Teusday, probably at college in the bathroom, then you are gonna do something stupid to punish yourself for it. You will make it through most of Wednesday trying not to think about what it would be like for that hard Hindu cock to be in your throat, and what it would be like to feel something that potent in your neglected little red kitty. Then you will try to use your toys while thinking about your husband. Every time you will see a Hindu face long before you cum.

Thursday you will be deeply depressed. You might go to church and pray. You might spend the day wondering if you hate yourself and this is punishment. All of which is just numerous forms of denial, because when I pull up on Friday, you will get into the car and if you are still wearing your panties, they will already be wet. You have tasted it on my lips, you have stripped before their eyes, but you haven’t yet surrendered, you haven’t yet submitted. You had only the lightest taste of the glory you never knew existed.

You are a clever capable woman. You are a woman who works hard to get what she wants. You are a born achiever. You are an over achiever. You have conquered every goal you ever set yourself towards, and today you just discovered everything you fought for was worthless. There is one goal left, it is right in front of you, and all you have to do is be strong enough to dare everything and try.

When I pull up out front Friday at 4 pm. You will be waiting for me.”

I felt my blood catch fire, my entire body screamed with need, but I would not give in. I would not do what she said. I WOULD NOT. The guilt had me. I didn’t’ sleep Monday night at all. I moved my sex toys to the gun safe and locked them away, as if that would keep me from masturbating. I would not do as Raand said. I wasn’t turning into a slut just from a glimpse of Hindu sex, just from a taste.

By second class Tuesday, it was all I could think about. I was starting to have trouble instructing. I was gonna have to take the edge off just to do my work. At lunchtime, I went to the teachers bathroom, sat on the toilet, and wept as I masturbated. Surrender shouldn’t feel this good.

NSFW: yes

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